


Burdens

by StardustandPixiedust212



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Mention of Self Flagellation, Minor Depressed Behaviour, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft needs a hug, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 03:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11455395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StardustandPixiedust212/pseuds/StardustandPixiedust212
Summary: Sometimes, there's something that makes you who you are, yet weighs you down. That pulls at you a little bit inch by inch.Then there's the person who can yank you back up.OrA short introspective look on why Mycroft wasn't made to be carefree and how Greg notices but couldn't care less.





	Burdens

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I was somewhat down and I felt like doodling and exploring Mycroft's head. And um this happened ( looks away sheepishly). Comments are welcome and highly encouraged!! This was mainly to make me feel better but I hope you enjoy.  
> * Minor mention of depressed behaviour; self criticism and self flagellation.

Whenever Mycroft deigned to take the time for philosophical wonderings- which given his tailored personality, was exceedingly rare- it somehow wound its way back to his mother.

Funnily enough, Sherlock had very little bearing on his development as a person. Far less so his frequently absent and stiff father. No. He fell to the old and tired cliche-Oedipus wept, he thought wryly- of inheriting the sins of the mother. 

The biggest and most glaring fault that he could attribute to her is that she could never suffer alone. Her burdens, both inherited and self-made, were never to be soley in her possession. She felt that pain had to be shared and unwittingly or rather by a chance of laughable ill fortune, Mycroft existed to pick up the slack. 

Long tiresome nights of her rocking back and forth, manic whispers full of self flagellation over the slightest broken coffee cup or stubborn rash on the children, were things only Mycroft had the dubious honor of witnessing. His sole purpose was a crutch. 

Bouncing baby Sherlock, curly-haired and rosy-cheeked, was to be doted on and never exposed to the ever present darkness of the world. Which to be fair, Mycroft would have had no other way. At the risk of sounding maudlin, he imagined that each person possessed their unique burdens to carry - always more than one- a Herculean task if you will. His mother was firmly one of his.

She created that intrinsic part of him that years of upper class refinement, an extraordinarily high IQ and the forced moulding of politics could never fully erase. The unshakable belief that all burden lay with him.

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Ironically, the first thought that Greg had upon seeing Mycroft Holmes was not " _What a posh ponce_ " or even " _Good Lord there's two!_ " but rather immediately he thought " _That man has the fucking weight of the world on his shoulders_ "

Followed inexplicably by " _Now he could use a big bowl of warm chicken soup_ " 

After a series of following encounters, through his progression from cocky rookie cop to greying Detective Inspector, Lestrade confirmed his first impression with the slight altercation, of that man carrying that weight on the most insufferable shoulders, connected to the most insufferable personality. 

Yet while the Iceman's mere presence commanded respect and fear from almost everyone else. Greg could never shake that first impression. 

A boy, just barely a man, wearing a suit two sizes too big to create an intimidating presence, but highlighting his slim stature even more. Simultaneously wearing a worried expression, aimed at his wayward brother and somehow managing to retain guilt and responsibility in those stern features. All of this covered by a thin veneer of blankness.

Lestrade frequently had the oddest urge to take him home and feed him soup.

He stifled that urge and buried it under years of faintly hostile clashes, arguments over Sherlock's well-being and the ever-present wall of distance the elder Holmes maintained at all times.

Yet after the flames had cooled and Sherlock had resurrected. After the dragons had been slain and their henchmen apprehended, Lestrade noticed the elder Holmes looked _light_ for the first time since he'd known him. He seemed to be breathing withouth the labour of a hundred different regrets and worries and duties pushing at his chest.

So after the chaos had been cleared and each stone meticulously put back, Lestrade took a breath and as easy as anything he'd ever done, he turned to him, image of that young man in his mind's eye and gently said:

" How about some soup?"


End file.
